


To Close Upon Something Solid

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [30]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Wherein Lady Stark wishes to find her son and stumbles upon so much more.Lyanna Stark once took it upon herself to offer her father the perfect heir and she has succeeded. Try as she might, however, she can not shake away the shadows of the past. Matters are not helped when her pride and joy takes off into the wilderness beyond the Wall.Jon, soon to reach the age of majority, is expected to take the reins of Winterfell from his diligent lady mother. His dreams are much greater in nature though, thus he heeds the call of adventure and takes off, discovering in the process a veritable trove of secrets.AU!





	To Close Upon Something Solid

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [day of the wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925523) by [solitariusvirtus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus). 



Life is a long line of moments carefully arranged in endless echoes. That is precisely the notion Lyanna Stark ponders as she kneels before her gods, a fervent prayer upon her lips. Her fingers knead the back of her hands, so does her whole body tremble with cold and exhaustion. Her eyes, wide open, stare into the sightless gaze of the carved face, beseeching the voiceless wood to answer her.

Behind her the crunching sound of feet stomping snow signal someone’s approach. She doesn’t turn. Lyanna already knows who it is. “Have you found him?” she asks, her voice quivering with choked emotion.

“’Tis not that easy.” She swallows convulsively as a flash of anger heats her cheeks. “He made it past Craster’s keep, as far as we’ve been able to gather. Gods be willing, we shall find him soon.” She stands, snow clinging to her skirts. The white film splinters and cracks, falling off in tiny flakes.

“That is not good enough.” Of all her brothers this one is the one she despises the most. Lyanna turns slowly. She looks into Benjen’s face, a face she has not seen in more than a decade. Taking it all in, she concludes that had she seen him among a group of men she’d have been unable to pick him out. Not precisely handsome, he reminds her more of Ned than of Brandon, though he shared their eldest brother’s eyes. Silver lines his temples, noticeable amid the dark hair that is receding ever so slowly. Old before he was ever young; Benjen regards her coldly. “Be gone with you; you are useless.”

A smile breaks upon her sibling’s lips. “The gods do not listen to pleas, but if they did, they would surely not grant the wish of a faithless daughter.” She throws her beads at his head. Benjen brushes the pathetic assault away and steps towards her. His frame is not massive, but she knows well enough not to judge a man by his girth or lack thereof. Instinctively, she swats at him, hoping to deter the progress.

He hits back and the sting of his slap stabs at her strained control. “We are no longer children.” Brushing past her, he reaches out to touch the pale bark of the weirwood tree. “I once swore I would make you pay for what you’ve done. I would let him die were he not so unlike you.” Her lips purse. She cannot see her brother’s face but all these years later she still remembers how he looks in anger. “Jon is an innocent.” Blood drips down from her split lip. Lyanna wipes it away carefully. All that matters is finding her son. “Too much like his sire for me not to wish to save him.” At that she must smile; Benjen does not know half of it. She is glad. “You must leave this place however.”

“Not until I have my son back.” Turned around with a brutal tug, she faces the youngest of her siblings.

“You have no idea what is out there.” Her lips curl. Wildlings. What have those savages done to her boy?

_“Please, Brandon; do not hurt my babe.” The words were ripped from her throat out of sheer necessity. Lyanna her her brother’s wrist between her hands beseechingly. Her knees hurt from the hard stone brutally pressing the thing flesh._

_Disgust flashed across her brother’s face. “You’re breeding.” It sounded almost as though he could not believe it. “Tell me who fathered the bastard or I swear to the gods, I’ll fling that little thing in the well as soon as it’s born.” Her hands dropped. For the first time she felt genuine fear as Brandon’s threats. Even so, she could not give him a name._

_“You wouldn’t.” He absolutely wound, her sterner side admonished and she was putting her child at risk by allowing her brother to conceive of such notions._

_“Never you mind; I shall find out precisely who it was.” Biting her lips to hold back her incredulous smile, Lyanna allowed him to stalk off. She remained kneeling, the weirwood leaf in her palm trembling gently. She prayed the gods to deliver her child from harm and to see him safely in her arms._

“You’ve no idea of a mother’s strength,” she answers in the end, thinking still of Brandon and how much further she would have gone in order to save her child from injury. Head tilted back, she looks at a waning sun and considers her options.

“I need more men. Gather them for me if you wish further assistance.” The heart of the matter, she thinks, cannot quite be moved.

“I have emptied all dungeons across the Northern realm for you and persuaded free men to join as well. What more can I do?” The numbers had seemed vast to her and yet they vanish into the wilderness as soon as they’ve left the safety of the Wall. Where could all these men be; none ever return to meet the swing of Ice, which is what she would have expected of them.

“Ask the King.” Little hairs stand on end at his words. Lyanna protests; she cannot appear before him, ‘twas the King’s order and has remained so all these years. He will kill her for daring to cross him. Her sibling remains unmoved, however. “Come with me.”

She follows into the small solar of the Lord Commander’s, her brother’s, that is. There is a large table upon which rests a covered cage. She knows the shape too well to mistake it. Her brother tugs off the cloth obstructing their view.

A gasp rises. A yell follows. “Why is it moving?” Bloated fingers curl around iron bars. Lyanna looks to her brother, her demand for an answer going unsatisfied yet her mind had already moved on to her own worries. “Your fastest horse, I need your fastest horse.”

“Strange how you can be moved to act when it suits your fancy.” She allowed the jab to slide. It is not worth getting in conflict over, not when she can think of many better uses for Benjen and his hot-headed approach to the matter. “I will ride with the men.”

She thinks her son cannot be dead, not if the dead are rising. Old stories, stories she had begun doubting, come to mind. At least time has proved her instincts right. And if she has been right so far, she must trust her faith will be rewarded in the future as well.

* * *

 

_“There can’t be any children.” The cup in her hand trembled. “I am so sorry, Lya. The risk is too great.” He steadied her hand, the warmth of his palm so at odds with the coolness of his sentiment. “Many of the guests will be much too concerned with their heads on the morrow to miss you.” Her teeth pressed painfully together. Her heart was telling her to throw the tea in his face and send him off with ringing ears; her head reminded her she needed to be certain._

_“As Your Grace wishes,” she managed after a moment. It was painful to even speak the words. But she did. “It might be best to take your leave now. “My brother might yet come to see me.” He nodded, reaching out to touch her cheek. Lyanna bit the flesh on the inside, forcing herself to keep still._

_“I will see you again.” She had simply nodded, knowing before long it would be time to cut him loose._

The scars she bears on her thighs throb with phantom pain. She had cut and cut into the flesh of her legs, staining strips of cloth to satisfy the eyes of those who’d checked. She knows someone had. Her insides twist, caught between elation and despair. Suspended in the moment she forgets about the last words he ever spoke to her, she reaches out, her hand on his arm. “Your Majesty, I need help. My son–“

He pushes her away none too gently. “Lady Stark, you ought to beg the boy’s father for help. What have I to do with it?”

“Your Majesty,” the Spider intervenes, throwing her a knowing look, “this is a pressing matter indeed. Lady Stark brought aught with her that needs to be seen.” He brings forth her small cage, pulling off the cover.

The severed hand does its dance, trashing about in the confines of its prison. “I need men and wildfire. These things burn; I have poured all resources I had into furnishing my brother with what is needful. We need more, Your Majesty. More men, more wildfire.”

“How does that connect with your son, lady?” he asks after a time. Rhaegar does not look at her; he keep his gaze locked upon the hand she’s brought.

“He was taken by Wildlings north of the Wall.” She can’t truly figure why Jon would leave with them of his own free will, but suggesting so much to the King will destroy any chance of help she could hope for. “If we manage to dispose of these creatures, we reduce the number of future Wildling attacks upon the Wall and thereby the expenses of the Crown.  

 She stares at him, waiting for some manner of reply.

_Robert’s kiss was firm and commanding, much like the man. Lyanna kept still, in part to resist the urge to rip herself out of his hold and in part because she could hear footfalls approaching. Years later she would recall the scuffle better than she ever thought possible what with the confusion of the moment. In that moment, however, all she could do was throw herself in Rhaegar’s path, stopping him in his tracks. His fight was never with Robert._

_“Why?” he demanded, shaking her roughly. She allowed the storm to pass over her, limp like a ragdoll._

_What could she tell him? “I am so sorry. The burden was too great.” He fairly threw her from him, his expression that of a wounded creature. She heard Robert curse behind them, swearing he’d not known._

The King’s profile remains severe, the cast of his face not so much changed from his youth. There are lines there which were not there before and he’s grown somewhat more bitterly grim than the melancholy of their earlier days. But he is still so very much Rhaegar that she is drawn, in spite of herself, to him, gravitating around the man like the sun does around the earth.

“I want to see it with my own eyes.”  He points to the proof her brother has offered. “How else am I to trust ‘tis the truth I hear?” He looks at her then, as though daring her to oppose him. Lyanna looks at the ground, not in contrition, for she does not feel that, but in a bid to stall for time. “Once I am satisfied, I shall consider the matter.”

Lord Varys nods his head and retreats, touching her arm gently. Lyanna follows, knowing when she had been dismissed. She considers, briefly, explaining the matter to Rhaegar, but after all this time, it hardly matters. Better yet, it cannot matter. She must make do with what little she had managed to obtain.

_The secluded spot had the advantage of great sentinels guarding the clearing. She was glad for that, for she feared being caught in such a vulnerable state. Should anyone happen upon them she would be very much unable to string together a coherent line. Lyanna was lying in the tall grass, the wonder of her experience still lingering._

_The shadow above her moved, sunshine spilling over her face, making her squint. A hiss followed, Rhaegar’s apology not long in appearing. She did not want an apology, however. Tugging him back, she demanded the strength of his arms. He relented, gathering her to him after he’d managed to make them decent. Head pillowed on his arm, Lyanna closed her eyes._

“Lady Stark, have you considered writing to your brothers in the Free Cities?” She starts to hear the Spider speak.

“Indeed not; one was banished by the King, the other by our sire. How could I possibly turn to them for aid?” She blinks, glances at her hands and then back at Lord Varys. “I hope there never comes a day when I need their help.”

_She felt a moment of shame looking upon the man she’d once called father. Rickard Stark had never been the same since the King has banished Brandon. “Let him have some time for his own thoughts,” she encouraged._

_Later, when he unknowingly signed the papers sending her brother away, she pitied him even more._

* * *

 

She returns to chaos. Lyanna has been doing her best to avoid communicating with Rhaegar and to be entirely fair the man avoids her in equal measure. Only Arthur, from his close circle, comes up to her from time to time. He speaks about his sister and his nephew; he is careful not to mention her brother, but it still lets her know Ned is well. She is surprised he acknowledges her, but then reminds herself that Arthur was the one who understood first. She mellows some for him, allowing the knowledge of her brother’s wellness to bolster her. She always regretted having to push him out of his inheritance; if only Ned had listened to her.

Benjen, to be found in his own chamber in a mound of furs, his torso covered in bandages, does not even attempt to hide the fact that he is barely able to stay awake. His eyes, fogged by pain and milk of the poppy, struggle to focus. She doubts he can see. Still, his tongue works. “My sister returns,” he managed, holding one hand out. Benjen holds his hand out. “For you.”

She takes the bit of parchment and parts it slowly. Jon’s handwriting, very similar to another hand she’s seen little of, spreads across the length of the small message. “Why didn’t you bring him back?” She does not care about the Wildlings and their woes; she just wants her son.

Her brother chuckles and looks past her to the King. “Your Grace has come to fight alongside us?” She hears Rhaegar make a vague response and crumples Jon’s note in her fist.

“Benjen, you said you would bring my son back.” The conversation she’s not been attending pauses. Her younger sibling grins and gives a soft nod.

“And so I shall, if you speak the truth.” She pales, blood fleeing her face in a rush of panic.

_“Your Majesty, it was all a misunderstanding.” Lyanna held her breath, waiting for the King to dismiss his son. But Aerys, the second of his name, and might be forever second in realising the intentions of other, did not catch on as she’d been fearing.”He made a mistake. Both of us have.” Those were the words spoken by the Prince that day, according to Ned._

_And the King in his infinite wisdom decided naught less than exile would do. Lyanna had consoled herself with the knowledge that Brandon could not carry out his promise of slaying her child. It was a blessing indeed Rhaegar had washed his hands of her. No one could guess the child was his and she had Elbert Arryn to thank. She could live with the consequences._

Silence endures. She looks from one man to the other and realises that while she may be the superior in planning for the long term, her brothers, and especially Benjen, have always been one step ahead of her when it came to momentary reactions. He has caught her and perversely she finds some measure of relief in that. “Might be a fever has set in. You speak nonsense, brother.”   

“’Tis simple, either you make a clean breast of it or I call off any attempts to find that boy of yours. Those are your choices.” The words have been spoken and the challenge will not be taken back. “Your Majesty, you had best take a seat.”

“I’d prefer not to witness a squabble which does not concern me.”

“On the contrary, the matter does concern you, Your Majesty, directly so.” Lyanna shakes her head, both in refusal and warning. Unfortunately for her, Benjen presses on, undaunted. “In fact, Your Majesty may wish to know my sister has been working on an interesting endeavour to say the least.”

“This does not concern you, so say no more.” Rhaegar sits down however, and gives her a questioning look. She wonders whether denial might gain her a reprieve, but with Benjen there she comes to realise it shan’t happen. In the end, she decides that she won’t say a thing. If her brother chooses to reveal what he knows all the better for her; he knows less than he thinks he does.

“It seems your sister will not cooperate.” She hates the way he refers to her, as if she is not the same Lyanna he held in his arms. “Lord Commander, I am not a patient man, nor do I wish to be embroiled with this matter any longer than necessary; might be you would be so kind as to explain.”

“I believe I shall let a person better equipped do so.” No sooner than her brother speaks that the door opens, letting in another.

For a moment she does not recognise her own son. Taller, leaner and garbed in strange fashion, Jon closes the door in his wake, carrying a small wooden chest under his arm. “Uncle, I knew I could count on you. Mother. Your Majesty.” He then opens the chest.

“Where do you have that from?” Lyanna demands, recognising the object at long last. Might be more concerning is what it is missing.

“Your bedchamber.” He places his burden on the table and reaches beneath his cloak. A sharp sort of sound leaves whatever he hides beneath the furs and before she knows it Lyanna is faced with the manner of proof she’s been trying to avoid. “I know very little about raising dragons. I was hoping Your Majesty would be better informed.”

What follows, Lyanna can only describe as a storm of questions and accusations. Her son sits in one of the chairs, seemingly more concerned with his new pet for a few moments. “The undead army marching towards us might be tad more concerning now than whatever it is that happened in the past. Not to deny anyone their revelations, but I should dearly like to know what dragons eat.”

“The Others take it, Jon; how can you be so calm?”

“None of this comes as a surprise to me; I’ve known for some time now. Clever plan, lady mother, but not nearly clever enough; too much at the mercy of chance. Still, the Three-Eyed Raven was impressed.”

“Jon, what are you talking about?”

“You would know him better as Brynden Rivers, I suppose. One of the fourth Aegon’s bastards.”


End file.
